Hello, Horny Readers! Welcome to My stop on the Halloween Blog Train, where you will withstand the chills and thrills of chastity and cbt in the Enchanted Forest!
If you want to follow Us all the way through, you may want to go back to the beginning and Mistress Constance’s post. Follow that all the way through Mistress Hunter’s post, and you will be all caught up, and ready to experience what I have in store for you!
Be sure to enjoy the side story of the glade at the bottom, a little extra bit of chastity torment for Our subbies observing Locktober!
You may be asking yourself, what do chastity and cbt have to do with a forest?
I’ll give you two hints:
- Trees can be male, female, or both, but the forest as a system is spiritually female.
- Most heterosexual males owe penance to womankind in one way or another.
More than that will require that you read on.
Into the Glade of Chastity and Cbt Repentance
The controlling entity that relentlessly drained your balls and made you eat your cum abruptly sets you free. You fall to your hands and knees, breathless. Balls dessicated, penis sore, stomach queasy with disorientation and your own ejaculate, you attempt to calm yourself.
As your ragged respiration and heart rate return to normal, you creep to your feet. First slowly rolling your shoulders in their sockets, then raising your arms above your head and stretching gingerly from side to side, you test whether or not the awkward positioning of the coerced orgasm and cum eating ordeal that ended just moments ago injured you in any way.
Luckily, aside from a bit of stiffness, you seem to feel no worse for the wear. Even the aforementioned queasiness seems to be subsiding. And although your cock and balls feel a bit violated, you smile a little and scratch yourself, allowing the familiar post-orgasm sleepiness to overtake you. You’ve always been a fan of your own orgasms, and though you prefer to control them, a cumshot is a cumshot, in retrospect.
You close your eyes and take the first deep, controlled breath in what seems like an eternity.
Zipping up your pants, you decide that it’s time to go back to finding a way out of these woods.
Oh, the folly of man.
A beguiling tinkling on the breeze
After a few moments, your ears pick up a soft, distant sound. Musical tinikling, almost like tiny wind chimes. When you open your eyes, you notice an opening in the trees that you’re almost sure wasn’t there before. In fact, it looks like it leads to a glade.
It’s dim where you’re standing amongst the trees, the canopy so thick that sunlight is barely strong enough to dapple through it. But you can see a hint of open space with mossy ground cover and low profile wildflowers in almost full sun just up ahead.
After your literally draining ordeal, you decide that a nice nap in the sun, soothed by the birds and butterflies and that mysterious windchime sound will be a perfect way to recover. With this in mind, you begin to walk over the leaf-padded path that leads to the glade.
The soft chiming grows more audible, and you begin to look up into the trees that line the path to see if you can find out where it’s coming from. At first, all you can see are intermittent glints of light among the leaves, more and more of them the closer to the glade you get. Mostly they’re too far up for you to see what the sunlight is glinting off of until you get to where the path opens up to the sunny green expanse. There, a branch on a fat-trunked pine tree is low enough that you can see it right before your eyes: a set of two small, silver keys.
You recognize them as chastity keys; endless porn-searches have brought you into contact with plenty of things that don’t interest you.
Little do you know that what interests you is going to become mostly irrelevant, very soon.
You reach up and snatch the keys from the branch before looking around and confirming that they’re everywhere. With a shrug, you conclude that it must be some primal artistic statement by hiking feminazis. With a scoff and a roll of your eyes, you continue into the glade.
Little do you know that when you snatched the keys, you submitted yourself for investigation and judgement of your sexual conduct towards women. You unwittingly submitted yourself to the penalty of the forest should you be found guilty: cbt and chastity.
When the breeze picks up to a gust, the chiming turns to a momentary chatter. Leaves and needles whisper together in an almost human way.
You’re still oblivious to the meaning of all of this, but that won’t last for long.
For now, all that’s on your mind is finding the perfect sunny spot, and getting comfortable, which you do in short order. But the moment you settle yourself and close your eyes, four formerly benign-looking clumps of groundcover begin to quietly elongate their stems and fronds, winding their way around your wrists and ankles. When you take alarmed notice and try to jerk yourself free, you find that you are as unable to escape captivity as if you were held by chains of iron.
The wind picks up once again, along with the chattering of the keys and whisper of foliage. To your shock, another gust of wind, accompanied by the sound of popping buttons and ripping fabric, takes your clothes with it, and you are left restrained, naked, and vulnerable.
You watch them, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, whip into the treetops, chased by your wheeling shoes and socks.
Overwhelmed by the supernatural and seemingly endless events of this journey, you cry out in frustration, “What do you want from me?”
This is the whisper in the trees, still fluttering in a now sustained high breeze that has finally ceased to seem natural to you. Somehow what sounded like an almost human voice before is now clearly understandable. The promise of warmth that drew you has disappeared as clouds drift in overhead, obscuring the sun. The once-inviting glade has taken on an almost gloomy cast.
Penance, penance, penance.
“For what?” you shout back. “What have I done?”
In response, another clump, situated near your waist, springs up tall and bows down to seize your sore cock, pulling it up straight and exposing your balls. A moment later, a pine cone shoots out from the trees and smacks into them from 20 feet away with a force that would impress a major-league pitcher.
“Goddammit!” you scream, writhing ineffectually.
The nausea has returned, this time a familiar offshoot of the pain of being kicked in the balls.
Unmoved, the forest sends another pinecone missile that hits home once again. Then another. And another. One after the other, pummeling your abused flesh. Alone and cradled in your palm, a pinecone weighs next to nothing. But the cumulative punishment of 20 of them at that velocity surprises you with the pain they inflict. Your cries are at first wordless roaring anger, then pathetic weeping. Only then do the missiles pause.
Sniveling, you manage more humbly, “But I don’t understand!”
Your sins deserve chastity and cbt.
Suddenly, a cloud drifts aside, and your eyes are immediately dazzled, though you feel unable to close them. And on the canvas of your sun blindness, you begin to see a flashing of images:
Leering looks at uncomfortable women in elevators.
Porn binges of women being degraded and used purely for the pleasure of men. You hunched over and jacking off with a slack-jawed, drooling attentiveness.
Dates you went on, not because you really wanted to get to know the woman, but because you wanted to get laid.
A rapid-fire scrolling of the times you blocked or ghosted a woman when they declined to have sex with you as soon as you wanted or weren’t content to be simply a vehicle through which to act out your porn-induced fantasies.
Times you humped away on top of a woman, came in five seconds, and rolled over to sleep with no care or concern for her satisfaction.
You sitting on the couch, burping and scratching yourself as a woman toiled around you.
You know it’s all true.
“I’m sorry!” you blubber helplessly. But instead of this expression of contrition securing your release, it seems as if the entire forest on all sides explodes with wrath.
Pinecones and acorns shoot out at you in a seemingly relentless barrage, always somehow finding your nutsack. Once in a while, a twig whips by and leaves a thin red welt on the shaft or head of your cock. You twist from side to side futilely, trying to evade them until, sobbing, you simply submit yourself to the corporal punishment, and fall into a kind of agonized stupor.
Somehow the forest seems to sense your submission, and with a few final blows, the eldritch ballbusting ceases.
Reflection before imprisonment.
For a while, the glade is absolutely silent but for your moans of pain and contrition. Not even a chirp of a bird or buzz of an insect can be heard. But gradually, the sounds of animals return, just as the clouds drift away. This time the sun feels warm, like reprieve.
Naked and humiliated, trying to ignore the numb agony in your balls, you decide you do feel bad about the way you’ve treated women in your past. You realize that your preoccupation with your own pleasure made you see women as just another means to secure it, and you feel ashamed.
If only that were enough for the forest.
Sentenced to chastity.
The securing plants slowly unwind themselves from your wrists and ankles, and you sit up slowly. You don’t want to get up yet, because you can’t bear the thought of the insides of your thighs coming into contact with your poor nutsack. But you do look down at it, and blanch with dread.
Somewhere in your cbt stupor, your cock and balls have been imprisoned in a chastity device.
With a defeated moan, you nevertheless scramble around as much as you can without adding insult to injury, for the keys you plucked from the tree branch on the way into the glade. You notice that your clothes have returned, folded neatly and stacked nearby. The sun glints off of something on top of the pile, and you eagerly grasp for it, wincing as you incidentally jostle your bruised and swollen nuts.
But when you bring the key to the padlock, it doesn’t fit. You are so exhausted and defeated that the most you can manage is more slump shouldered weeping, which continues until you find the strength to stand and put on your clothes. But once you have, you can muster no more will than it takes to lie back down. You then drop into a fitful sleep.
Forest Chastity and Cbt
The forest whispers to you on night breezes all night long, strangely soothing despite the knowledge it imparts. By the time you wake, you understand that you will have to find the key to your cage amongst the hundreds hanging all around you. Yes, this may take months, even years. But when you do find it, and earn your release from the cage and from the glade itself, it will be as if no more than a few hours have passed beyond it.
More importantly, you will have not only repented through chastity and cbt for your past treatment of women, but become a full-fledged service submissive, grateful for every bit of attention from womankind, focused on their pleasure and satisfaction. You will strive to become a selfless lover with endless stamina, intuitive and attentive, indifferent to your own orgasm, and rabid for eating pussy.
And in those moments when the old, selfish you threatens to creep back in, a shiver will run down your spine. In your mind you will hear the whisper of the trees. The whisper will remind you of the final lesson of the forest: that if you aren’t careful, diligent with your reformation, you could wake up one morning, despite having gone to sleep in your bed, right in the midst of the glade again. You will be locked in chastity and cbt vulnerable, the ominous music of hundreds of keys chiming on the breeze.
Now, stumble out of the glade, horny readers, and into the world of Miss Kay Marie! Tomorrow, She will have a new stop for you over at MistressAfterHours.com.
Goddess Rachel, Chastity and Cbt Arborist
Oh–and don’t forget–a little extra audio story from the glade that’s sure to make you shiver!
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